


Hope is the Thing with Feathers

by WatanabeMaya



Series: On Independence and the Reunification of Italy [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everything Hurts, Historical, Humanity, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Real Events, M/M, Mortality, Romance, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-31 03:55:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatanabeMaya/pseuds/WatanabeMaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He feels the world around him begin to shake, his back soaked with another's tears; and only then does it register to him that Spain is the one who's crying this time. "But why?" he whispers hoarsely, a mangled cry escaping his lips. "Why did it have to be you?" / A Spamano oneshot regarding the unification of Italy. ((Possible Sequel to "Standstill"))</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope is the Thing with Feathers

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

_"Spain..."_

_The moon is bright, its light casting a luminescent, eerie glow on the castle's stoned walls. Somewhere amidst the rustling of tree leaves, the sweet sound of a nightingale's song is carried by the evening breeze, riding alongside the cool whispers of a mid-autumnal zephyr. It is hauntingly beautiful, the bird's sonata, a mellifluous tune whose resonance is recaptured and replayed even in the depths of one's subconscious – like an amaranthine melody promised never to cease._

_"Spain…"_

_A shadow dances amidst unadorned walls; the pitter-patter of tiny footsteps seemingly in beat with the rhythm of the songbird's melody. Small beads of sweat trickle down flushed porcelain skin, as tiny huffs of breaths escape dainty pink lips. Quick on his feet, the young child continued to run, bringing his legs to an abrupt stop only when he had reached his destination._

_"Spaaaaiiiinnn!"_

_"Huh?" the man grumbles, half-asleep, the loud noise rousing him from his slumber. He rubs his tired eyes drowsily, refocusing his gaze onto his lackey. "What's wrong, Romano? Tell boss."_

_"I can't sleep," the child fidgets in his place, hands gripping the hem of his shirt as he answers. He mumbles something about monsters and the heat and what registers to Spain as something along the lines of him 'not wanting to be alone on a stupid, scary night like this.'_

_"Oh, is that it?" The elder laughs cheerily, sitting up as he makes room for his charge. He pats the empty space beside him invitingly. "Well, come over here then."_

_The child scoots over to his side almost immediately, propping himself on one of the large pillows behind him. He looks upward to face his caretaker, eyes warranting the sound of the elder's voice in hopes of calming his tense nerves. The Spaniard notices this, and decides to humor the child for a little while. He'd do anything to get him some shut-eye, really._

_"Na, Roma, have you ever heard of the story of the sun and the moon?"_

_"No… che cosa è quello?"_

_"Well, it went something like this," the suzerain began, weaving the new tale he had just crafted. "Once upon a time, there was a powerful god who controlled the land. He was el Sol, the Sun. The world was still a very dark place at that time, and so his job was to look after the earth and shine his light down on the people so that he could let the people know about time, that they could still work when it was still bright outside, and then guide them home as they prepared to sleep the darkness away until his return on the next day. The earth was just a vast expanse of land back then, as most of the soil had been parched dry being put under the control of the bright sun, yet water still existed in some of the more secluded areas for the people to drink and bathe in. Now, the Sun was a big, strong man with tanned skin and a cheerful personality that was loved by all-"_

_"And his eyes?" The Italian pipes up, trying vainly to hide the interest in his voice but failing to conceal the curiosity that overcame his features._

_"His eyes?"_

_"Were they green? Like yours?"_

_"Yes," Spain says fondly with a smile, "I suppose they were."_

_"Okay," he lets out a thoughtful squeak. "Continue."_

_"So one day, as el Sol was walking around the earth on his usual rounds, he came across a strange creature with fins flapping desperately on the dry land. At first he thought it was a fish and he told himself, 'Maravilloso! What a large and delicious-looking fish this is! I should bring it home soon, I'm sure my people would love to eat it.' But when he came closer to the creature, he discovered that it had been la Luna, the Moon. And la Luna was a very beautiful la—…uh, mermaid…with her pale white skin and shiny silver fins, her hair in loose caramel brown locks, and her eyes… a dazzling shade of amber."_

_"Come to think of it, they were just like yours, mi tomate!" Spain teases the lad with a playful ruffle of his hair before moving on with the story, seeing as the child had been completely immersed and rendered unable to form a cohesive response._

_"El Sol had been so moved by her beauty that she had captured his heart. But you see, Romano, she was a dying. She was a mermaid and living in a world with little water wouldn't do her any good. It was then that the Sun knew he had to make a sacrifice. This became the cycle that the world went through everyday from then on."_

_"Sacrifice?"_

_"It's when you give up something that's important to you for the one that you love."_

_"Oh."_

_"So the Sun decided that he would give up his life. He closed his eyes and blew her a kiss, as a deep blue embraced the earth, and the skies became the ocean in which la Luna lived. And she swam around the world in place of the sun, her silver fins casting a light, argent glow that lit up the world and guided the people in a time that was known as the night."_

_"And el Sol?"_

_"He was a land god, Romano. Land gods can't breathe in the water."_

_"So…that was his 'sacrifice?'" the child asked inquisitively, the word still sounding foreign and awkward on the tip of his tongue._

_"Yes, my little one. I'm afraid that it was," Spain says, stroking the child in a featherweight caress._

_"It's a sad story, " he whispers as he turns to look at the sky, "how the sun loved the moon so much, he died every night to let her breathe."_

-x-

The year is 1861.

It is the seventeenth of March.

Today, the north and the south will be recognized as one. One land. One nation. One –  _whole –_ Italy.

The two brothers stand alongside one another, eluding pride from their tall, steady gaits, heartfelt smiles beaming on their faces as they listened to the sounds of the speech made by the new ruler from the House of Savoy, King Victor Emmanuel II. Veneziano's smile is one of true joy – ecstatic about his reunion with his long lost brother; whilst Romano's is one more serene, a smile that speaks of relief for the end of all their wars, and more importantly, for the end of their bloodshed.

The relief however, remains short-lived, when the night falls upon the land, and the cheery crowds have been reduced to no more than a diminishing number of people returning back to their families and their homes. Only the personifications remain, together with the members of the Parliament, in the castle of the newly appointed gerent.

"Ve! This is really yummy, isn't it,  _fratello_?" Veneziano exclaims as he takes another bite from the hearty serving of pasta set on his plate.

" _Si_ , it is indeed very delicious," the elder sibling nods politely as he gestures to their host. " _Grazie, il mio re."_

Romano nudges his brother, whispering a curse as he scolds his twin softly. "Damn it, stupid  _fratello._ Show some manners, will you?"

"Ah! Uhm, Mr. King," the younger calls out in between bites. " _Grazie_ for the meal!"

"I am honored that the food suits both your tastes, Mr. Vargas," the king chuckles. "After all, it is only but a pleasure that I am able to be of service to my country."

Time passes quickly as they spend the night talking over toasted  _Gattinara_ ' _s_  and steaming _Agnolotti_ , the Italies exchanging warm pleasantries and conversations with their new ruler. Then when the clinking of silverware has ceased and the platters of fine china have been cleared off from the table, the members of the parliament set off to work. A shuffle of papers marks the start of their meeting, as the officers discuss the impediments and issues brought about the recent unification, together with the new laws and methods of governance to be implemented under the king's rule.

An hour later, Feliciano excuses himself to go to the comfort room; a bell tinkles and the door clicks to a close as the former North exits from the room. Romano is left alone with the leaders of the parliament.

"Mr. Lovino," a voice calls out to the older Italian, belonging to none other than their prime minister, the Count of Cavour.

Camillo Benso was his name, a relatively stout man with a scruffy beard that traced round his jaw and wore thin-rimmed spectacles whenever he had been at work in the office. He was known for his efficiency and dedication for his country – heck, the man was one who loved to work overtime, even during cases when he had fallen greatly ill – which was precisely how he was able to earn his spot in one of the top positions in their field. Out of work, he was a cheery fellow who had a special fondness for liquor and tendency to fall into outbursts of boisterous laughter with his peers once under the influence of enough alcohol. And as far as Romano could recall, the chap had come from the northern parts of their country – Turin, most probably – thus, making him one of Feliciano's people.

"I am afraid I have very bad news for you," the elder man began, his tone more stern in comparison to the group's earlier dialogue and merry-making. His expression darkened as he looked at the nation, eyes foreboding a heavy burden that appeared to be more grave and serious than ever before. "Forgive me,  _Signore Romano,_ but I am quite sure that you are aware of this yourself, though we had intended to keep this from your brother,  _Veneziano_ …"

"I'm…sorry?"

"I believe you already know what this means," the king interjects, resting his chin on folded hands. " _Perdonimi, Signore Lovino,_ but with regards to the union– "

" _Si,"_ Romano nods before the king can continue, unease churning within his stomach, and it's all he can do to keep the bile from rising up his throat. His gaze does not falter when he turns to look at the king, as he swallows hard and chokes out a reply, but his voice does come off strained from the effort.

_"I understand."_

-x-

There's a great deal of things that make up our universe.

You've got the galaxies and the nebulae, the asteroids and the meteors, the comets and the moons, the supernovas and the cosmos, the constellations and the stars, and then, right smack in the center, there's the sun - a big ball of blazing hot gas, without a single worry or care in the world, burning bright as it lights up the sky. Just the sun, shining in its brilliant, glistening light; radiating its very own beauty down on the earth for all the world to see.

Then there's Antonio. Spain, the great, grand land of passion and gorgeous splendor, the empire upon which the sun never sets; the country whose beauty is one that never fades, whose heart brims with a love that never ends. The man, who in every essence of the word, was Romano's very own sun – bright, beautiful, and breathtakingly brilliant.

It's no wonder that someone like him, Lovino Vargas, who shines but a mere dim light like that of the moon would deem himself unworthy of standing by the presence of such a radiant being. With his dulled amber eyes and sickeningly pale skin a stark contrast the empire's olive tan and lively green gems, a boy as frail as he would only be a disgrace standing next to a nation so much stronger and powerful than his own.

There are many laws that constitute our universe, one of these being that when two opposite charges combine, there is an attraction that is likely to be formed. It therefore goes in the same way that when people, whose personalities may clash infinitely time and time again, cross paths in their lives, one of them is bound to fall for the other.

Sometimes, these laws can apply twice. And if you're lucky, the attraction you've built up for your significant other may just be returned with a fuller and greater force than what you could have ever imagined.

But you see, there's another thing in this universe that many overlook, or at times even fail to consider, in life.

There exist some rules, which, no matter how beautiful or perfect or precise they may seem, were made to inevitably be broken.

And yet, even so, the people still hold onto the hope that someday, somehow, no matter how stupid or far away or difficult it may seem, their wishes will come true. Like drowned soldiers in the war that is their love, they cling on to their lifeline – the bare, thin, brittle thread of hope that this attraction will be returned. They hope, and they pray, and they wait. Endlessly. Longingly. Faithfully.

Romano is one of those people.

Keepers of wishes and guardians of fantasies, beholders of whimsical notions and timeless reveries - they are dreamers. That is what they are. Time has never been fair to them, and fate – always a tad bit too cruel.

-x-

"You say that you don't love him anymore, and that you've given up, but that's a lie…isn't it?"

"No, I – "

"So why are you still counting the years that you've 'given up' on him? Why do you still blush when all that I've done was to mention his name? Why do you still lie to me about having thrown away all those letters when I know very well that you have kept each and every one of them in that box underneath your bed? You don't have to lie to yourself,  _fratello_. You don't have to lie to me anymore, either. You still love Spain, don't you?"

"Feliciano, I don't – "

"You've 'given up' on him for how long, exactly?"

"Seven yea– "

"Right. Seven. Totally 'given up' on him, haven't you?"

"Listen, Feli, I've been over him a long time ago and I really don't– "

"Then, why are your hands gripping so tightly at the hem of your shirt while you're telling me this? You only ever do that when you lie."

Lovino heaves a sigh, hanging his head low, feeling as though he had finally been defeated.

"I-I…I don't understand. I'm not supposed to feel like this anymore. I've given up on him for almost a decade now. I'm not supposed to love him anymore. So why?"

"You can't force yourself to change how you feel,  _fratello_."

"I really should give up on him. He's only thought me as a child. There's no way he could love me back the way I am now. I'm no different from what I was before. I waited, Feliciano. For four centuries, I waited for him. I tried my best and gave him everything. But I only ever ended up being a nuisance to him and a waste of his time. What difference would that make now?"

"Don't cry,  _fratello_. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought this up-"

"But…"

"But?"

"But I guess it's because I've loved him for so long," he says softly, a sad smile playing on his trembling lips, "that I've forgotten how it was to live without him."

-x-

"Romano," a voice calls out to him and breaks him from his train of thought. "Is there something wrong? You seem...distant, lately."

"Nothing," he replies, taking a soft yet shaky breath before he continues. "Nothing's wrong, bastard."

"That doesn't sound like nothing to me,  _querido,_ " the elder comments as he lets his arms fall loosely on the shoulders of the hunched Italian. Lovino doesn't take a liking to the action, though, and shoves the elder man away, but rather than a desired apology, he completes the act with a loud threat and a muttered curse instead.

"Don't touch me," he growls. "Don't fucking t-"

Spain's hands grab hold of the younger's jaw, cutting him off midsentence and closing in on the gap that lay between them before a single breath can be taken more.

And his eyes open wide as Romano pulls away, his hand meeting the Spaniard's cheek in a loud, painful slap. "Asshole!"

Spain raises his hands in a false surrender, " _Lo siento,_ Roma. I didn't think your mood was this bad-"

" _Chiudi il culo_! I don't want to listen to any of your bullshit!"

And almost as if on cue, a cough escapes him, wracking his frame violently as he falls desperately to his knees.

"Don't look at me," he rasped. "Get out."

"Why are you doing this, Lovi?"

"Why? What do you mean ' _why'_? We can't do  _this,_ that's 'why'!" Lovino screams, hot tears of anger streaming down his flushed cheeks. With tense shoulders, his whole body shook, hands falling into balled fists as they hung by his side, rage and fury burning evidently in his eyes. "Because I hate you, Spain, and I'll give you all the reasons in the world for you to hate me. Because I'm stupid, because I'm useless, because I'm just a piece of shit that'll never be as good as my brother. Because you're an idiot for sticking with me for so goddamn long; _andbecausethattfirstonewasaliebutI'mgoingtofucking dieanywaysoitdoesn'tmatteranymoreandIwantyoutoforg eteverythingbecauseIdon'twantyoutogethurtbecauseof me_!"

"What…what do you mean, Romano?" Spain asks him, hurt mirrored in the look in his eyes. "What do you mean you're going to die? _"_

He turns to his side as he looks at Antonio, expression crumbling to one of both pain and grief, then the tears fall once more – no longer angry this time – just droplets of sadness falling down ceaselessly like a shower in the rain.

This was a first for Lovino since the news broke out. There were no tears when the announcement first came, no anger nor resentment, no jealousy nor grief, only the sense of duty that rang through his mind as he shook his head in a courteous nod and took a bow before his king. It was only a process, anyway; a mere step expected to be taken in order for Italy to gain the true value of its unity. He had –  _without qualm nor complaint for the sake of his country_  – accepted it.

And he took it all bravely as the time passed on, with forced smiles and casual lies usually directed towards his overly caring younger brother. He let the disease take over him as it spread through his veins. In the fire that seared through his body; in the ashes he expelled through his lungs; in the vines that coiled round his chest, tight and prickling, as he struggled every night amidst restless dreams and bloodshot eyes, to gasp and wheeze and beg for air when all he felt was the asphyxiating sensation of his own self falling and drowning in the sea of his own sick blood. He knew it was coming. He was only waiting until the time came for his destruction.

But here he was now, fragile and unguarded, kneeling before the eyes of his caretaker. He isn't trying to be strong anymore. He doesn't want to play the role of the modest hero. He was never prepared for this from the very start.

_He was breaking._

"You heard me," Romano says weakly. "Get out."

But the leader of the Armada was never one to fall prey to such whims so easily, going on his knees and cradling Romano's face in the palms of his hands as he looks him in the eye and grabs hold of his gaze with a firm yet gentle force. Like emerald capturing amber.

"You're you, and Veneziano is Veneziano. You may be one Italy now, but you're still two very different people to me," Spain grins, "I've loved you for who you are, through all those years we've spent together and apart, and nothing –  _not even this_  – can change that. You don't have to worry about anything. I won't leave _, querido_. We can always be together."

Then they kiss, only softer this time, with the touch of Spain's lips pressed firmly against his own sending jolts throughout his entire frame. Arms wrap around the small of his back, his fingers entwining themselves in rich locks of mahogany. Blood rushes to his head, his cheeks flushing in a mad scarlet. His heart races fast. It's hot, quick, and – _needless to say –_  electric.

"Damn it, Antonio. Don't you understand?" Lovino says as he breaks away from the elder's lips, his voice like a strangled cry. "I'm sorry."

"There can only be one Italy now."

He feels the world around him begin to shake, his back soaked with another's tears; and only then does it register to him that Spain is the one who's crying this time. He buries his face in the crook of the shorter boy's neck, resting his head on the Italian's shoulders, hands squeezing tightly as they held on to a gentle pair of alabaster. "But why?" he whispers hoarsely, a mangled cry escaping his lips.

_"Why did it have to be you?"_

Romano doesn't have an answer to this, so he stays quiet as he looks past the taller boy's shoulders, overlooking the stars as he sets his gaze on the waning crescent. He lets out a sigh as his hands rest on the Spaniard's back and cling on to the loose fabric, as the former nation pulls him closer and revels in the warmth of the empire's hold.

_"Thank you, Spagna. Ti amo. Te amo. Thank you for everything."_

And he'll cherish this moment for as long as he lives, holding him close, until the morning comes.

-x-

It doesn't take long for the aftermath to arrive, unfolding itself right before the nations' very eyes. And as the former country struggles with the entropy of his weakened body, heaving yet another bout of blood and coughs, Romano is forced to face the newcome fact of just how  _human_  he truly is.

"Spain," the Italian croaks, voice broken and rough from the recent, harsh fit.

"Yes,  _mi tomate_?"

"I can't do this a-anymore," his voice stutters and breaks at the last word; and Romano hates himself for it. "It feels like my body's on fire, and my throat is sore, and my head is pounding so much it's about to split. It hurts to breathe and it hurts to think, and…it wont be long before South Italy becomes nothing more than a memory buried in the books – hell, I'll be lucky if I become as legendary as  _Nonno_."

"Roma –"

He sets aside the platter of peeled apples and dried fruit as he turns away from the crestfallen empire, focusing his attention elsewhere on the light bulb that hung above him, a flickering glow that lasted in momentary spasms, a shimmer of light reflecting itself in the welling pools that prickled his eyes and seared his retinas.

"Just promise me you'll be fine when I'm gone. Be the bastard that you are, and keep on smiling no matter what."

"Stop it, Lovino. Don't you dare talk like that," the elder scolds him, his tone both authoritative yet soft. "You can do this,  _mi querido._ You can get through this. Look at Prussia; Gil's still here even after the fall of the Berlin Wall and the unification of Germany. You're strong Roma, like him. Boss knows that. You–"Spain pauses before continuing, his voice now akin to a quiet plea. "You can't go yet."

The boy shakes his head.

"I…I'm going to fade, Antonio. Maybe not now, maybe not yet, and I don't want to…but I know I am. It scares me. It scares me when I think that one day I'll just vanish and leave Feli behind, my brother who already lost so much when _that guy_ disappeared. Who's he going to depend on when I'm gone? I can't just leave him with that potato bastard. I'm his older brother. He needs me… but I… I can't be there for him anymore," the boy stops for a moment, face contorting in a pained expression as his chest tightens and a lump forms at the back of his throat.

"Don't talk so much if it hurts," Spain tries to soothe the boy, "Roma, the case with Holy Rome was different. That was a war, and you know how– "

Nonetheless, the Italian continues on.

"Then I think about how I'll end up leaving you alone, too – okay maybe not totally alone because you still have France and the other potato bastard, Prussia with you – but when I go, I won't be here for you anymore, too…and then who's going to tend to the tomatoes, and eat your  _churro_ s, and make the pasta, and cook your  _paella_  with you? I don't want to go, Spain. I'm not ready, and I don't think I'll ever be – but I'm going to fade. And it'll be soon. My people no longer care. My people no longer remember –"

"But I'm here, Romano," Spain interrupts him in a feeble attempt of reassurance, "I still care. I'll still remember."

A pause, and then –

"I'll always remember."

The boy looks up at his former caretaker, citrine eyes glazed over from both emotion and the fever. He stretches his arm out over the duvet, reaching out to the Spaniard. " _Mi dispiace."_ A pained smile plasters onto his face and he whispers _, "_ I tried,  _Spagna._ "

The elder man takes his hand, his henchman's wrist now frighteningly thin and painfully frail. Only then does he notice the rivers that threaten to spill over from the corner of Romano's eyes – still so innocent and so much like a child – and it hurts his heart with the stinging pain of guilt for having allowed his former colony to succumb to a pain he never did deserve. Like a million knives that stabbed his guts, like a hundred daggers that pierced his soul - a hollow pit of emptiness that spent centuries with a yearning that ached to be filled. It was almost as though the gods had branded him with a new anathema, a new curse - the sensational pain of a thousand blades that sliced and pierced and marred his skin until his body was clothed and dyed in a shroud of madder red - the colour of defeat, and the colour of regret.

But even then, Spain smiles.

"Shh…no, Lovi. There's no need to be sorry," he coos into his ear as he pulls the Italian closer, Romano's fingers entangling themselves in the wrinkled cloth of the empire's shirt as strong arms wrap around him in a gentle embrace. "No need to cry."

But he does anyway.

They both do.

-x-

They're together again on that same night, when the moon shines bright and peeks through the spaces of half-drawn curtains, the aria of the songbird slipping past the open window in the patient's ward of the local hospital, the evening air creeping past his clothes and chilling him to the core of his bones. It's a quiet evening, all tranquil and serene, but his mind is kept busy with the company of his thoughts.

 _It's a mystery,_ he thinks to himself,  _how it takes a tragedy to bring them back together._

He drapes the blanket over the sleeping figure that lay beside him, taking one last glance and a chaste, stolen kiss from his unsuspecting caretaker, before he closes his eyes and wraps his pale fingers around a pair of warm tan.

-x-

_"I'm sorry, Romano. It's very sad, I know, but it's also very nice as well."_

_"But if the sun already died, how would it be back again the next day? That's a stupido story. The sun didn't die. It never died. It just got tired and closed its eyes and went to sleep."_

_"Maybe you're right, Romano," the elder acquiesces fondly at as he looks at the boy, with his little hands balling into clenched fists as a tight-lipped smile forms on his flushed, tomato-like face – Spain can tell he's angry. The empire yields. "But you know, Lovi–"_

_"Then doesn't that mean it never loved the moon at all? That the sun was just some selfish, lazy bastardo that took naps whenever he felt like it and left the rest of his work to the moon to shine during the night instead? Maybe it was the moon that was in love, 'cause she put up with his shit and worked hard to shine for him even when the sun was having his siesta and was never awake to see it –"_

_The empire scratches his head. "But then, mi Romanito, what about the daytime? Maybe the sun worked hard for the moon too and let her rest during the day. Maybe they took shifts because they wanted each other to have a break as well. Maybe… they felt the same way."_

_"They both felt sleepy? Then they should just take siestas together then!"_

_"No, not that. Otra cosa, Romano. Do want to know what I think?"_

_"Che ne pensate?" Romano asks him as he stifles a yawn, the lulling call of slumber slowly beckoning him to its will. The elder notices this as he tucks the child underneath the covers of the bed; his calloused hand running through soft, chestnut locks._

_"That they were both in love, mi querido. "_

_"Love…with each other?"_

_"Si," he replies with a quick peck on the child's cheek. "They were," he says, bidding the child goodnight all the while._

_"Very much so."_

**Author's Note:**

> Translations
> 
> [Italian] 
> 
> "Che cosa è quello?" – "What is that?"
> 
> Gattinara – A type of red wine, made from Nebbiolo grapes, with an alcohol percentage of 12.5% - 13%
> 
> Agnolotti – A kind of ravioli made with small pieces of flattened pasta dough, folded over with a roast beef meat and vegetable stuffing
> 
> Fratello – Brother
> 
> "Grazie, il mio re" – "Thank you, my king."
> 
> Signore – Sir
> 
> "Perdonimi…"– "Forgive me…"
> 
> Si – Yes
> 
> "Chiudi il culo!" – "Shut the fuck up!"
> 
> Ti amo. – I love you.
> 
> Nonno – Grandfather
> 
> Stupido – Stupid
> 
> Bastardo – Bastard
> 
> "Che ne pensate?" – "What do you think?"
> 
> [Spanish]
> 
> Si – Yes
> 
> El Sol – The Sun
> 
> La Luna – The Moon
> 
> "Maravilloso!" – Wonderful!
> 
> Mi tomate – My tomato
> 
> Mi querido – My dear
> 
> Lo siento. – I'm sorry.
> 
> Te amo. – I love you.
> 
> "Otra cosa…" – "Something else…"


End file.
